


I wish I had two paths that I could follow

by Capitola



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, Fjord becomes a paladin of Erathis, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Fjord (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capitola/pseuds/Capitola
Summary: Caduceus nods, recognition flashing in his eyes. "It sounds to me like you've met the Lawbearer.""I - oh." Fjord has never been one for temple services, but the name is familiar to him. One banner amongst many."Erathis. That bit about justice and all, that's sort of her thing. Justice and law and civilization." He looks at Fjord, pointedly. "She's associated with the Wildmother, you know.""I didn't."
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Erathis the Lawbearer & Fjord (Critical Role)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124
Collections: Critmas Exchange 2019





	I wish I had two paths that I could follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RABNerd28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RABNerd28/gifts).



> Happy Critmas, RABNerd28! I was in love with this prompt as soon as I got it, and I hope I've done it justice!

It starts with the dream again, the only one Fjord seems to have anymore, or at least the only one he remembers. When an angry leviathan speaks to you in one dream, everything else  _ would _ pale in comparison.

“Return.”  _ No, no, no.  _ “Release _. _ ” _ No, no, please - _

A curt, female voice cuts through the din.

"That is quite enough."

The eye splits in two, as though cut with a blade, and around him, the scene changes, until he finds himself sitting on a hard chair in a room so shadowy he can't see a single wall. The floor is of black marble. Opposite him sits a woman, on a chair identical to his. She is armored in plate of fine make, and rests on a battleaxe. Try as he might, he cannot make out her face, so he looks at the axe, where a pattern of scales is traced out in gold.

"The world has not been kind to you, Fjord.” It’s nothing like listening to Uk'otoa, though he still finds himself stunned into silence. Rather than trying to block it all, these are words he can tell he’ll want to remember. “Abandoned, shunned from your earliest days. Desperate for attention, chosen by a power you couldn't understand - the choices available to you were not fair, and yet you have striven to do your best by them. Justice may yet be done, to you and by you. Rest now, with the knowledge that another choice is now within your grasp."

And rest, Fjord does.

* * *

He recounts the dream to Caduceus as they walk the next morning, and Caduceus nods, recognition flashing in his eyes. "It sounds to me like you've met the Lawbearer."

"I - oh." Fjord has never been one for temple services, but the name is familiar to him. One banner amongst many.

"Erathis. That bit about justice and all, that's sort of her thing. Justice and law and civilization." He looks at Fjord, pointedly. "She's associated with the Wildmother, you know."

"I didn't."

"Theirs is a tumultuous love,” he begins, and Fjord realizes he’s stumbled onto one of Caduceus’s stories again, and hangs on to every word. "The push and pull of nature and civilization, you see? Just as people -” he gestures broadly to the rest of the party “seek to control nature, it has its own ways of getting back at us. We may have ships, but the sea takes many of them. Leave a house neglected and the ivy will break the bricks. We seek to tame nature, but it may yet bring us to our knees.” There is no change in Caduceus's face, but Fjord finds himself blushing at the metaphor.

“That seems kinds...fraught.”

“Well, of course they’re the happiest of pairs when it’s all in balance.” He looks thoughtful. “It's good she's taken notice of your situation, I've been praying for something to interfere."

"You have?" Fjord doesn’t bother to hide the surprise in his voice; he’s always wondered what Caduceus was thinking about when praying but he’d never stopped to consider that it might be  _ him _ .

Caduceus looks more serious now. "It’s a bad business, and you can't just leave it behind. Someone's got to help you out of it, and it sounds like someone powerful has offered."

Fjord glances up, towards the sky, away from anything down here he might have to think about. "Yeah, I guess you might be right about that."

* * *

Fjord  _ likes _ Caduceus. It started long before all this, but it’s harder to ignore now. Liking Caduceus is  _ easy _ , it makes sense, because what more could he possibly want? Caduceus is deliberate in his actions and his words in a way that Fjord has always wanted to be. He has a way of making you forget he’s there until he wants you to, and lately Fjord finds himself making a very conscious effort to remember the Caduceus is there, and notice what he’s doing when he thinks everyone else is occupied.

And what he’s noticed has started to tend more towards the fact that Caduceus’s eyes are so deep he could lose himself in them, that the fur on the back of his neck stands up when he’s frightened, like a cat. A thousand tiny details in his hands, his speech, his manner of moving around that Fjord can’t help but study.

Whether or not Caduceus has noticed him beyond…praying for him, whatever that means, well. Fjord couldn’t be sure either way. And if he can’t be sure, he won’t make a move.

Fjord goes wandering off on his own, one day in Uthodurn, and he stumbles upon a small but tidy temple. It looks unremarkable from the outside, but he’s drawn in by that symbol, the axe with the pattern of scales, like the one from his dream. It’s quiet inside, and the pews, though tidy, are empty.

He looks around, self-conscious, realizing he has no idea what to do here. Do people bring gifts to temples? His experiences with prayer are chaotic, informal, and contradictory - Jester insists it is like talking, while Caduceus seems to put more weight behind it than he does a normal conversation. He remembers being taken to a few temple services back when he was a child, in a group with the other orphans, mostly around festivals, though what gods they were praying to is beyond his memory. He never paid much attention to the substance, just copying the behavior of others around him, trying not to stand out. 

“May I help you, pilgrim?” A voice brings him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see a half-elf in heavy robes. Their hair is plaited, and the same symbol of the axe and scales is embroidered on their robes.

“Oh, I’m not - I’m no pilgrim. I’m just looking.” It used to feel so easy to use Vandren’s voice, and yet lately it feels more like a choice every time he opens his mouth.

“That sounds like something a pilgrim would say,” they say, smiling. Something in the smile reminds him of Caduceus.

“I expect you would know more about that than me.” He scratches his neck, trying appear both charming and unthreatening.

They turn to the banner above the altar. “Do you know of the Lawbearer?”

“Not especially,” Fjord says, aware of his ignorance with each word that falls out of his mouth, “but I had a - kind of a strange dream.”

The half-elf’s eyes flash with recognition, and their expression softens. “Why don’t you come in,, tell me about it, and I’ll see how I can help you.”

And so Fjord sits, on the pews, with the half-elf, who introduces themself as Mariel and shares an abbreviated version of his story, minus all that business out at sea and not calling Uk'otoa by name. Mariel, in turn, has a story of their own to share, and as much to say about the Lawbearer as Fjord is willing to hear. They tell him about all the things in her domain - cities, order, exploration, bonds between others. 

When Fjord leaves, nearly two hours later, his head is swimming with stories and his heart is brimming with resolve. He has been chosen, then, and by a deity who sounds like a much better deal than his current situation. Erathis’s own words ring in his ears,  _ justice may be yet done, to you and by you.  _

When the others ask at dinner where he got to all day, his first instinct is to demur, to talk about a market he really only passed through, and mention the temple only in passing. Instead, bolstered by his new path, he tells the truth. He tells them about the temple, and about Mariel, and he even mentions the dream, something he hadn’t been forthright about before.

It’s not the most exciting thing that happened to anyone else that day, and the others move on to other things. Fjord looks back over at Caduceus, and to his surprise, catches a dark expression passing across his face. In an instant, it’s gone. But for a moment, Fjord would have said that he almost thought Caduceus was jealous.

Finding faith is, Fjord realizes, terrifying. It’s a jump, and there is no preparation, no lifeboat underneath you, no guarantee there will even be the cold, hard surface of the water. Uk’otoa wasn't faith, it was an offer of everything he’d ever wanted, too good to be true. And of course, it was, and now he finds himself here, where the best path forward comes in the form of...justice? Rules? He’s no stranger to relying on other people, that’s what being crew is, but he’s never relied on anyone the way he’s come to rely on the Mighty Nein, and even after all these months it’s frightening to quantify their relationship. To say that this is something he depends upon. 

And what does he have to offer to a goddess, besides this gawky, awkward body that he wasn’t grown into at ten, twenty, thirty? A lifetime built running away from each thing he was before, a gift for lying to people? He’s still not sure where it all fits in.

It doesn’t matter, as it turns out. That night after the dragon, when he sleeps, he finds himself in a ship’s cabin, the walls of sturdy, good wood, and the scene outside the windows shows a calm night. A map is spread out across a table, and as he traces his fingers across it, they find the edges where the map becomes blurred, and then gives way to blank parchment, waiting to be filled. 

There are people in those places, people with stories to be heard. Children who are ignored like he once was. Sights to be seen. He hears the Lawbearer speak, though in his mind, not in his ear.

“I cannot fix this darkness you took into yourself.” Something dark spills, like ink, against the parchment, ruining a large portion of it. And then the ink is redirected into rivers, to soft lines of borders, ocean waters. “I can give you the strength to overcome it, to make something greater from all of this. It will be hard, and it may not come naturally for you. But this world, this society belongs to you as much as it does anyone else, and I would welcome your stewardship of it. Will you embrace the company and aid of others, strive to tame the wilds of the world in the name of civilization, and uphold and revere the spirit of invention?”

And Fjord, Fjord agrees.

When he sleeps, Fjord dreams of swords and he dreams of ropes, braided and strong, keeping things held together. He dreams of the firm, even boards of a hull, of a wharf neat and ordered, of the gridded lines of canvas beneath his fingers. He dreams of faces, people he has seen, will see again, and others who he may meet someday. He dreams of seas not yet seen by sentient eyes and mountains yet to be climbed, and the balance of the needle inside a compass.

He does not wake up in a cocoon of seaweed that morning, or any morning, but it is undeniable that a change comes over him. He wakes up with the energy he remembers having in his teens and early twenties, and, lacking anything else to do, follows Beau in her daily exercises. It comes easier to him, and as the weeks wear on, he quickly puts on more muscle than he ever has before, even when he was a young sailor.

His reclaimed voice feels stronger in his throat, and the new sword is balanced in his hand. For the first time in his life, he’s giving honesty a good try.

* * *

Caduceus seems to regard him with curiosity throughout all of this. No disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to have made up his mind either. More than once, lately, Fjord has glanced over at him, the way he’s used to doing, and ended up catching Caduceus’s gaze instead.

And then there is an evening, on the road again, where he and Caduceus are sitting up on watch, two cups of tea between them. They sit up by the dimming firelight, heads inclined towards each other, almost too close for Fjord to focus on what is being said.

The talk, as it often does lately when it is just the two of them, turns to the sword, and what may lie ahead - “destiny talk,” as Caleb would dismiss it if he were awake.

“It’s not what I would have imagined for you,” Caduceus says. “But I can’t deny it suits you.”

“Perhaps.” Fjord takes a deep breath, trying to be casual. “I’ve been thinking about what you said - about the ebb and flow, the balance of it all.”

“And?” Caduceus smiles, eyes flashing with something Fjord dare not identify. “Do you wish to tame me?”

“Never,” Fjord says. He smiles back, a bold response taking over in his brain. “Do you wish to see me brought to my knees?”

“Not in surrender. But I can’t say I’ve never thought of it.” They are too close now, closer than Fjord can bear, and he places his hand over Caduceus’s. When Caduceus doesn’t pull away, Fjord leans up, and kisses him before he can lose his nerve.

He does it too quickly to revel in the sensations of it, beyond  _ wet _ and the overwhelming sense of  _ good gods I just kissed Caduceus Clay _ . He averts his gaze for a moment, toward the flickering firelight, but then Caduceus takes Fjord’s chin in his hands, turning him so their eyes meet.

“So that’s what that’s like,” Caduceus says, wonder and that something else burning in his eyes.

“A good thing, then?” Fjord asks, simultaneously wondering how exactly he should react if the answer is no, and coming to terms with the idea that it is probably not going to be no.

“I think so,” Caduceus says, “but I think I’d like to try it again to be sure.”

And what Fjord learns after a minute or perhaps longer, is that kissing Caduceus is the easiest thing he’s ever done. What’s harder is separating himself from the act of kissing to breathe, to think thoughts outside of  _ I have found him and now we are. _

“ _ I _ think,” Fjord comes up with, eventually, breathlessly, “that we should continue this sometime when we have actual privacy.” 

He glances over at the sleeping forms of their friends, and Caduceus follows his gaze and laughs, softly. 

“I think kissing is enough for me, for now,” Caduceus says. “If you don’t mind continuing that. I'll let you know when I’m ready for ‘continuing.’”

“Of course. I don’t want to move too fast for you.”

And they  _ move _ \- not too fast, but not too slow, either. They make out like teenagers until their watch is almost over, and the next night they do the same. The night  _ after _ that the party almost get ambushed by a bugbear because they were otherwise occupied, but the reason for their distraction goes unnoticed. 

Finally, there is a town with an inn and beds for the night, and Fjord is trying not to think about what that means until they’re well into dinner, when Caduceus taps him on the shoulder. He gives Fjord one look and he  _ knows _ , oh he knows. They make their excuses early, and stumble back into their room, tugging off each other’s armor, kissing each other sloppily, clumsily,  _ perfectly _ , in between.

And Caduceus, who always has the right question for the situations, asks, “What do you want to happen next?”

“I want to make love to you,” Fjord says, and the words sound awfully cliché once he’s said them, but he meant it sincerely, and if there is anyone who can appreciate his newfound love of sincerity, it’s Caduceus.

“I can go slow, if you need me to,” he adds. He wants so badly to not mess this up, to do it right the first time. He’s had time to think about it – about how Caduceus has less experience than him, about how for once in his life he’s not the one setting the boundaries. The thought sends a shiver up his spine, the thought that he gets to be the well-heeled lover. He gets to show Caduceus a good time.

“You can,” Caduceus says, hot breath against his ear. “But I’m not sure I want you to. We said something about you on your knees, didn’t we?”

It’s so precise, so practiced that Fjord realizes that he’s not the only one with  _ plans _ for how this was going to go. He wonders just how much of their planning has intersected. He climbs off of Caduceus, ignoring the heat pooling between his legs, jerking down his trousers to expose pink furred thighs, and his  _ cock _ . Slender and long like the rest of him, and hard under Fjord’s fingers. Caduceus breathes in sharply, then moans as Fjord brings his mouth to the head, running his tongue around it.

He bobs down, further, taking as much as he can in his mouth, and bringing his hand to the base to cover what he cannot. He’s aware of Caduceus bending over him, breathing and whispering things he cannot quite make out.

When Caduceus finishes, his nails dig into Fjord’s hair, as he swallows and pulls off of him with a gasp. He blushes, and it’s him who doesn’t quite meet Fjord’s eyes. Fjord pulls himself up onto the bed with him.

“That was faster than I had thought it would be,” Caduceus says, blush still evident under his cheeks. 

“Well, you know,” Fjord kisses him lightly, “with time you build up a tolerance.”

“And how much time will you give me?”

“All of it,” Fjord says, smiling so wide he can’t quite believe it. “Cad, I give you all of it.”

“ _ Now _ will you let me try the same on you?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Caduceus strips him down lovingly, carefully, running his fingers over skin and scars. Now it is Fjord’s turn to lie back, to let his thighs drape over Caduceus’s shoulders. Cad nuzzles,  _ nuzzles _ at the hair above his cunt, and brings his mouth down further.

What he lacks in experience, he makes up in fervor, and his willingness to take direction. Caduceus’s wide, flat tongue is like nothing Fjord’s ever had, and even very clumsy, eager strokes go a long way. The two of them move and fold around each other, so tangled they’re almost graceful.

Fjord comes around a jumble of Caduceus’s tongue and his own fingers. As he lies there, Caduceus pulls himself up so he’s level with Fjord on the bed, and curls up to him, his chin resting on Fjord’s head.

“I wanted you to get your head out of the water and start to work your way up to my level,” Caduceus says, after a minute, and Fjord knows for sure he’s not talking about sex. “To devote yourself to something you could really be proud of yourself for doing. And I don’t understand it, but I think you’ve managed it.” 

“Oh, you think so highly of me?” Fjord could almost laugh; he’s going to have fun with Caduceus now that he’s learned his way around him. 

“You’re marvelous,” and there’s no hyperbole in Caduceus’s voice, just genuine wonder. “Not just as Her instrument, but as yourself. Do you know that?”

“Do you?”

“When I look at you,” he says, after a moment. “I see it reflected back at me.”

And it’s a feeling Fjord knows all too well. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Change is on the cards, but this time it will be hard  
>  But I never want to leave you  
> We've never had a fight  
> You should never split a pole  
> You should never split at all  
> I wish I had two paths that I could follow  
> I'd write the ending without any sorrow_  
> -Belle and Sebastian, "Wrapped Up In Books"


End file.
